


Keep on Walkin' (and Don't Look Back)

by Brachylagus_fandom



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brachylagus_fandom/pseuds/Brachylagus_fandom
Summary: There's an old legend in District Twelve that the dead walk the woods in midwinter. That you can bring them back. Almost a year after Prim's death, Katniss is willing to try.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen & Primrose Everdeen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Keep on Walkin' (and Don't Look Back)

There's an old legend in District Twelve that the dead walk the woods in midwinter. That, if you're willing to brave the coldest, longest, darkest night of the year, you can see those you've lost, speak to them and have them speak to you. That, if you're careful, if you're lucky, if you trade the right part of yourself away, if you don't doubt and look back before you cross the fence again, you can bring them back.

There are stories of people who tried. People who doubted, who looked back. People who went without realizing what the journey held, who hesitated, who never returned. People who traded more than they were willing to lose, who kept faith and regretted it. People who failed. There are no stories of people who succeeded - _really_ succeeded, got their loved one back and still _had_ them come spring.

Almost a year after Prim's death, Katniss is willing to try.

The day before the solstice, she announces that their supply of meat is getting low and that she needs to go on a hunting trip - given the time of year and scarcity of game, likely a multi-day one - to replenish it. Peeta gives her an odd look at the news; she'd managed to catch an entire warren of rabbits barely a week ago.

"You have a call with Dr. Aurelius tomorrow," he says.

"I know," Katniss replies. _I won't miss it,_ she doesn't say, but Peeta's eyes widen in understanding.

"Be careful."

"I always am." She packs an extra quiver - just in case - and leaves the Victor's Village an hour before sunset with her father's old headlamp strapped over her had and her mockingjay pin on her warmest coat's lapel. She holds her bow already drawn but doesn't shoot anything as she heads due west.

The first hour of walking is calm. The war and wave of firebombs that razed District Twelve to the ground less than two years ago have not changed the woods; any scorch marks on the trees are covered by snow and ice, and mockingjay calls still echo through the trees. Katniss sings to them and listens as her tune is repeated back to her from a dozen different birds. As the setting sun sets the trees ablaze with orange light, she can almost convince herself that this is just another hunting trip and Gale is laying traps somewhere in the distance.

As night falls, the woods around her start to change, to shift into something almost sinister. Every bird call, every fall of her boot, every swish of ice-laden branches sounds impossibly loud. Katniss knows it's only her imagination - she spent her first night alone in the woods jumping at the tiniest of sounds, sure they were from predators or Peacekeepers coming to sweep the woods now that they'd electrified the fence - but even knowing that, even having faced so much worse that the fiercest pack of wild dogs, there's still something menacing about the darkness. Especially once she starts seeing flashes of light out of the corner of her eye, ghostly hands reaching towards her that disappear into the small circle of light given off by her headlamp when she turns to look at them.

 _It's just my mind,_ she tells herself. _It's just the darkness and the silence and my mind making things up to fit with the stories. There's_ nothing _there._ The thought is unconvincing, and not just because her plan relies on there being something out there in the darkness.

About two hours after the last remnants of sunset have passed over the horizon, the mockingjays start talking. Not the imitation of speech they sometimes do, warbling up and down to imitate the register and rhythms of someone's voice, but proper talking, with the clear consonants Katniss knows they're entirely incapable of making.

"Who comes? Who comes? Who comes?" The mockingjay calls echo all around her, forming a nearly senseless wall of noise.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen," Katniss says. The flashes she'd seen earlier coalesce into full ghosts and reach for her, brushing their hands against and through her arms, their touch the coldest thing she's ever felt.

"Who for? The one who lights your way? Who for? The one who shares your symbol? Who for? The one who flew? Who for?"

"I come for-" For a moment, with what feels like hundreds of hands on her back, tugging her arms, trying to yank her hair, Katniss hesitates. Questions her choice. Why should she save Prim over everyone else she's loved and lost? Is that really a fair decision for her to make?

"Who for? The one who gave you wings? Who for? The one who saved him? Who for? One you slew? Who for? One you couldn't save? Who for? One you served with? Who for? One you served? Who for? Who for? Who for?"

"I come for Primrose Everdeen," Katniss says. "My sister."

"What for Prim, the rose you grew? What for Prim, the duck you called? What for Prim, the lamb you lead? What for? What for? What for?" This, at least, she had come prepared for. Katniss unclips Maysilee's pin from her coat.

"This," she says. "And all it represents." There's a moment of silence as the mockingjays (or whatever's speaking through them) weigh her offer. Then, Prim appears in front of her, healthy and whole and perfectly visible in her headlamp's light.

"Katniss…" she whispers. "You came."

"I did," Katniss says.

"The trade is made! The trade is made! The trade is made!" Katniss drops the pin into the snow, turns on her heel, and starts walking. "Don't look back! Don't look back! Don't look back!" And she doesn't. She doesn't let herself doubt that, if this isn't a dream or hallucination, Prim is behind her even though the only footsteps she can hear are her own. (If she isn't, either because she doesn't want to come back or was never there at all… she'll have a story to tell Dr. Aurelius, at least.) She doesn't glance back as she hears the voices of the dead whisper for her to turn around, to check if Prim is behind her, to take them instead, and she feels ice cold hands running down her back, tugging at her hair, grabbing her arms. She doesn't let herself think about anything but the path ahead of her.

The walk back to District Twelve is long, and by the time she enters it, dawn is starting to break. The windows of her house are still dark; Peeta, who was raised a baker's son and normally maintains the early mornings that come with that trade, must still be asleep.

As she stamps the snow out of her boots and opens the front door, Katniss pauses. Just for a moment. And looks back.


End file.
